


Stiles Specter

by Nenagh24 (EverFascinated)



Series: Steter Week '19 [6]
Category: Danny Phantom, Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Don't copy to another site, M/M, Mentions of Character Death, Pre-Slash, Steter Week 2019, but not really?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-04
Updated: 2019-08-04
Packaged: 2020-07-31 03:02:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20108107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EverFascinated/pseuds/Nenagh24
Summary: The separation of the nogitsune and Stiles might have been quick, but it wasn't easy. In fact, barring of one or both of them dying, it should have been impossible. Thankfully, Stiles didn't know that when he usurped the illusion it created, but facts don't go away just because they're ignored and it doesn't take long before the fallout of the process was noticeable.





	Stiles Specter

Not much was known about nogitsunes and, frankly, they preferred it that way. The spirits, as a whole, loved feeling mysterious and sneaky, so being able to surprise others with the breadth of their abilities was always a pleasure. 

There was at least one limit, however, that they probably wouldn't have minded people knowing about and it was this: nogitsune cannot create fully formed bodies from nothing. 

Nor even with a little bit of something. 

No, not even when an alpha werewolf and a banshee were involved.

This wasn't a terrible limit for the world at large to be aware of. Entities that could were almost beyond powerful and, as any trickster knows, it was hard to be unnoticed when everyone thought you to have the power to raise their dead. Well, any supernatural trickster, at least.

So the nogitsune that had the pleasure of cohabitating with Stiles Stilinski was as surprised as anyone when the figure beneath the bandages flowing out of this body's mouth started shifting without the nogitsune’s say so. When what started as a little distraction to keep his audience from seeing his true intentions, took on a life of its own. 

Quite literally, in fact.

* * *

When Scott invaded their shared mind space he had called out to Stiles and, in doing so, somehow put an end to a ‘delightful game’ the nogitsune had been playing with his ‘less than gracious’ host. Said host was of the opinion that his unwanted ‘guest’ needed to get the fuck out of his mind and body before Stiles figured out how to make the entity regret ever thinking about it. 

Actually, given the chance, Stiles was going to make the invader regret it either way, but it’d be nice if it got the fuck out of him anyway.

Instead of complying with this very obvious and verbal request, the nogitsune took the opportunity to not only push those two ‘freeloaders’ (read: Stiles’ friends) out of the entities rightfully _stolen _body, but also to hook the previous _proper _occupant along for the ride, using that ‘pesky pack bond’ against them in what it viewed as a delightfully ironic maneuver. That emotional bond of love and friendship would now doom Stiles as Scott inadvertently pulled him straight out of his own body.

The nogitsune was quite proud of himself.

Stiles was rather less than fond of the idea.

While he was glad he would no longer be forced to feel and partially experience what the dark spirit was doing in his body - and oh, man, was he glad; he'd be happy to never share headspace with anyone again as long as he lived even if they _weren't _a psychopathic murderer - Stiles had been hoping that the 'as long as he lived' part would be longer than the few moments the nogitsune thought Stiles would experience before fully discorporating for the last time. 

Was discorporating the right word if he was going to look like a force ghost for a whole minute or so before leaving for that place the nogitsune was high-key terrified of? 

(It seemed like the void wasn't sure there _was_ another place, which is what scared it. The whole concept still confused Stiles. It _was _the void, why would it fear more of itself? Maybe its family was just as douchey as it was?) 

There was probably a better word. He would ask Lydia if he had the time, but he wasn't sure he wanted his last act to be proving she'd have beaten his SAT scores if he’d been alive to take them.

One final thought made it to Stiles before the nogitsune was too… far? 'Far' was the best word he had for the feeling. Where before it had been like sitting in the same room as the invader, with its thoughts being as loud as his own and sometimes trying to overpower them, it was now like calling down a train tunnel.

Before they were too far away from each other, Stiles heard an idea resonate through their currently shared mind. 

'An illusion might work,' came the strangely clear, echoing thought, as if the nogitsune wanted Stiles to hear. The teen was suspicious of it in principle. 'Ah, maybe a bait and switch. A body won't be too hard…'

Stiles was right to be suspicious. 

The nogitsune was hoping the disembodied soul would pass on the news and lead the others to believe the illusion was the real nogitsune through the use of reverse psychology. Unfortunately for it, Stiles got understood it a bit differently.

* * *

The whole thing wasn't _entirely _Stiles' fault, you see. 

As was previously stated, it's not like the nogitsunes have gone out of their way historically to set any records straight. (One particular nogitsune went out of their way to do quite the opposite, in fact.) Add to that the poor timing of the psychic link snapping and it really was a recipe for disaster. And while that normally wouldn't have caused much issue, there was one teeny tiny fact that continued to throw wrenches in the works of those who worked against Stiles Stilinski.

He was a Spark.

Not just a Potential, which were relatively common. 

(One in five people were 'Potentials', as many an ancient tome would point out. Get a classroom full of kids and you'll likely have at least five on hand.)

Oh, no. A Potential in this situation would have no better chance of survival than those who don't possess any powers at all and only a slightly better than average chance as compared to a were'. 

It is, of course, well established that one Peter Hale is exceedingly lucky in all of the best and worst ways.

Instead, Stiles hadn’t been classified as a Potential in years, nearly a full decade to be more exact. No, he'd been rocketing towards the result of his trials by fire for some time now, to the point where even the laziest if druids could see where he was headed. 

Unfortunately, even though the nogitsune had been trapped in a tree for so many years, the void was never one to listen to nature and its portents.

It was through this unlikely simultaneous misconception of the other's power that allowed Stiles' belief filled magic to latch on to the illusion the nogitsune was building and twist it into something more.

In most worlds, this process not only pulled most of the power the nogitsune had in reserve, but also allowed Stiles to live the rest of his life in a brand new body with only a bit of fine print.

This particular instance, however, was just different _enough_ to make a difference.

* * *

One week was not enough to recover from a possession and most of your friends nearly dying. 

Stiles had always thought this to be rather obvious, but that didn’t mean dealing with the fallout of those events was any easier to handle. He was hoping that one day he’d stop having nightmares about the nogitsune and its actions, of that rush to get to Allison in time, of the scramble for the divine move and what would have followed if Scott hadn’t been able to pull it off. 

If he hadn’t been able to twist the nogitsune’s illusion, if they’d been just a little bit slower getting Lydia, if they hadn’t gotten back to stop the onis before they followed through with that stab, if Issac hadn’t trapped it, if-

Cutting off that depressing line of what-ifs, Stiles tried to focus on his computer screen with a huff. The questions already plagued him for answers each night, he wasn’t going to waste time on them when he was awake as well.

“Stiles?” 

“Yeah.” He responded without looking, eyes still scanning his old research for answers. When nothing else was said, he finished the current tab and looked over to see his dad hesitating just outside Stiles’ open bedroom door. “What’s up?”

The concerned look his dad had been sporting firmed up into something almost normal, but if the sheriff was trying to hide his worry, he failed. Possibly realizing this, the uniformed man cleared his throat.

“I’m headed out. I should be home for dinner.” He said, unnecessarily. Stiles was well aware (it was Saturday, his dad was on the first shift this quarter, and there hadn’t been any strange cases since the whole thing with the nogitsune, thankfully - that meant his shift was from nine-thirty to six), but he appreciated the sentiment. 

Instead of voicing any of that, Stiles just nodded and received a slightly stilted one from his dad in return. Seemingly satisfied, the sheriff moved to leave.

“You better be eating salad for lunch!” Stiles called after him. There was no answer, but he could feel the eye-roll his dad was executing from here. Standing up to lean out the doorway, he shouted down the hall towards the stairs his father just descended. “Don’t think I didn’t smell the bacon cooking this morning! You’ve already used your ‘cheat’ meal for this weekend!”

“Good-bye, Stiles.” Came the muted response as the front door opened. He might just be imagining things, but Stiles thought it sounded vaguely amused.

“Don’t make me call Officer Mayfield!” The threat was punctuated by the sound of the door shutting behind the sheriff. 

There was a quiet moment before an engine rumbled to life only to fade into the distance. 

Sagging a little against the door frame, Stiles tapped his fingers against it restlessly (one-two-three-four-thumb). Fake it ‘til you make it was a valid coping mechanism. Honest.

Eyes flicking over the shadows of the hall, Stiles turned and headed back to his desk. The chair creaked a little as he dropped into it. It felt like his school books were looking at him judgmentally from the other side of the desk, but he ignored them easily.

With a few clicks, he had another set of tabs open. Logically he understood that werewolves didn’t record much information publicly for safety reasons, but that didn’t mean he didn’t wish they’d make this easier on him. Was it too much to ask for a neatly indexed list of esoteric scents and the things associated with them? He was tired of not being able to understand all the comments he was getting from the wolves in town.

What exactly did _death _smell like, anyway? (Rotting? Formaldehyde? The void?)

Downstairs, the doorbell rang.

* * *

To show how this world differed and why that difference occurred, one first needed to see the bigger picture. 

No, not just the world at large, but every world. Let’s pause here for a moment and put this into perspective.

Many of the worlds in the multiverse had science. An almost equally large number had phenomena that science, present or not, could not explain. In the center of the venn diagram where both of those met, there was a small circle. It hovered close to the side of science, nearly breaching into the greater science circle, but never quite making it. 

It was within this circle that those worlds with scientists who study those inexplicable phenomenon live.

Stiles and his friends lived in many of these worlds. More specifically, Lydia Martin lived and featured prominently in a hefty percentage of them.

* * *

Visitors weren’t exactly unexpected on the weekend, though they usually called first, but the duo on his doorstep definitely wasn’t what Stiles was expecting to see.

Lydia gave him a tight smile before walking past him into the house, leaving Stiles staring confusedly at an unconcerned Peter Hale. 

What was he doing here? Sure, they weren’t about to kill one another, not after saving the other’s life (unwillingly or otherwise) so many times. But while he was used to their mutual bitching about doing research together far too many nights as the rest of the pack did everything but lock them up with the books, Stiles couldn’t recall if Peter ever visited his house before.

Not via the front door, at least.

“Aren’t you going to invite me in?” Peter flashed a politely disinterested smile. The look in his eyes and his very presence itself belied the expression. 

“Inviting undead inside your house is never recommended, zombie-wolf.” Sarcasm earning him a raised brow, Stiles offered a flat look. Peter affected a dramatically hurt expression, complete with a raised hand to cover his heart, to which Stiles rolled his eyes.

“Just let him in, Stiles. We’ve got work to do.” 

The two of them shared a look (one part fond, one part amused, and fully resigned) as Lydia’s voice called back from further inside the house. Well, it was never a good idea to keep her waiting, she would manage to get back at them one way or another if they did.

With a sigh, Stiles stepped back enough for Peter to enter the house. He made a face at the werewolf’s smug look as the older man deliberately brushed against him on his way in. 

There were a lot of reasons why his heart rate would kick up from that; Peter shouldn’t read into it.

Closing the door, Stiles followed the older man back towards the kitchen where Lydia had already opened her laptop on the dining room table.

“I’m here to run more tests.” Ah, Lydia. Preempting his questions like the queen she was. “He was skulking around as I pulled up.”

From where he’d just settled against the wall behind her chair, Peter had the gall to look offended, but he didn’t refute it so Stiles turned back to Lydia, taking a seat next to hers as he did.

“More tests? I thought Deaton confirmed that _it _was fully contained. That’s what that hooky ritual was for.” Magic was real and Stiles knew that some rituals would work for the right people, but it was hard to take them seriously when it involved shaking crooked sticks, lighting scented candles, and muttering incomprehensible nonsense.

“Cleansing rituals ensure no external magic is affecting a person, sweetheart. It doesn’t cover what the person is doing to themselves.” 

That had some worrying implications. And here Stiles had thought he was full up on nightmare fuel. The glare he sent Peter’s way was answered with an innocent look of ‘what? I’m just trying to be helpful’ that he was sure the older man had practiced in a mirror.

“Thank you for that terrifying clarification.” Dry sarcasm had worked for Stiles for years, so it was annoying that it seemed to be less effective over time as both of his guests ignored it.

“Yes, thank you for that.” Lydia chimed in distractedly. Both she and Stiles ignored Peter’s ‘You’re welcome’ in favor of her laptop. 

Finding what she was looking for, she turned the device slightly so Stiles could also see the screen. It was showing a still of the video Lydia had asked to record of said cleansing ritual. The candles were lit and in the image Stiles was standing just inside the runic circle with those awful ash symbols on his face. 

“I found something while watching the whole thing back last night.” A perfectly manicured finger pointed to the candelabra half hidden behind the frozen Stiles on screen. “Keep an eye on this as Deaton walks past you.”

With a tap, the video started up without sound. A little confused, Stiles watched closely when Deaton stepped into frame. The Stiles on screen stepped back as he let the druid join him in the circle and the present Stiles tensed in his dining room chair. Everyone on screen froze and Lydia sat back to study Stiles’ reaction with Peter doing the same from where he was leaning against the wall behind them.

“I asked Deaton about the candelabras this morning before coming over; they’re from the hardware store. Between that and the cleansing ritual confirming that no outside powers are acting on you, this,” she pointed to where the candelabra was visibly unaffected by Stiles’ shoulder being halfway through it. “This is all you.”

“But, how would I, I didn’t even know, why would-” Stiles’ stammering went ignored as Lydia minimized the video to show a folder with two images and another video file next to the highlighted one they just watched.

“I have two other instances of such behavior since last week.” Of course she had more proof, this was Lydia. “And one,” she paused to click on the other video that opened to a view of Allison’s room at the hospital, “of something else.”

The video was obviously supposed to be a cute one of Issac coming back to visit when they’d forced him to go home and take a shower yesterday. Lydia clicked to advance it to a specific timestamp and Stiles watched as he’d stepped back to let Issac take his place next to Allison’s bed only to flinch as Chris walked in. While the older hunter hadn’t spared him more than a glance, Stiles remembered the crushing guilt he still felt when he’d remembered what that _thing _wearing his body had almost done to Allison via oni. 

On screen, Stiles visibly swallowed down this guilt, taking another step back. He didn’t bang into anything or phase through any objects. Instead, as the clip fully turned away to focus on Issac, Stiles watched as the him from yesterday slowly faded into the background. 

Literally.

His wish to be invisible at that time seemed to have come true.

* * *

This was because Lydia, in her heart of hearts, was a genius. A genius who loved numbers and enjoyed learning for learning's sake. When given the opportunity to know about the parts of the world that could not be rationally explained, Lydia would most often take it as a challenge. There were an infinite number of Lydias who, after earning their Fields Medal, went on to revolutionize more than one field of science. 

The Lydia of this world may one day be among them, but she won't be the one leading that particular charge for at least the next few years. 

Until that time, the torch was carried by another set of scientists who had been working for decades on a very specific slice of the unknown. Those scientists currently trailblazing into the obscure field had been fighting an uphill battle to prove the existence of even one small portion of these supernatural entities to the world. Their papers were laughed at to the point where they were commonly passed around both in seminars by their old colleagues and by trolls on internet forums alike with only a few small groups taking them seriously, most of whom had also invested in tin foil hats.

Through it all, these brave scientists pushed forward and, in the last few years, their hard work started to pay off. It had even reached the point where a couple of government agencies were coming to believe in their findings. This belief brought new funding and as small as these grants were, the doctors’ experiments were progressing well. With their research they were changing the world. 

Like many forays into new frontiers, these changes were not always what one would expect or even in ways anyone knew how to observe.

It was through these studies, which Stiles had found early on in his hunt for information on the supernatural, and the changes they had wrought on the planet that this world branched out on its own among the tangled weave of the multiverse.

* * *

Invisibility, intangibility, the smell of death that lingered. That thought that’d been just out of reach suddenly came into focus and Stiles sat back in his chair feeling a little numb.

Oh.

So he really had died then.

Something of this realization must have shown on his face. 

Distantly, he heard Lydia say his name. It echoed strangely in his ears as if he were hearing it at the end of a tunnel and the similarities to that day made him shiver. 

(Perhaps the strange part was that he kept hearing the tunnel instead of seeing that light at the end of it. Wasn’t that where people went when they died?)

A warm hand landing on his shoulder, hot against Stiles’ chilled skin even through his shirt, was like a tether to reality. Stiles gasped as he realized he’d stopped breathing and he looked up from where he’d been staring at nothing to meet Peter’s focused stare. The werewolf’s proximity was a blessing and a curse. 

He tried not to think of why as his heart thudded loudly in his ears.

“Stiles.” Even on the third repetition, Lydia still sounded concerned.

Breath catching a little as he forcefully pulled himself from the edge of a panic attack (don’t think about it, you can think about it later when no one is here), Stiles focused on his fingers where they drummed against his leg (one-two-three-four-thumb one-two-three-four-thumb). He was breathing, he had a heartbeat, he had a body. 

He was _alive_.

Then, because he apparently had no use for other people’s concepts of personal space, Peter leaned in with narrowed eyes. Heart rate spiking from where it had been leveling out, Stiles’ eyes widened as their noses nearly touched. Involuntarily, his eyes flicked down the other man’s face before Stiles forced them to behave and deliver the glare this warranted.

“Alright, that’s enough.” Lydia’s hand appeared at Peter’s shoulder with her head peeking over as she stood when the were’ refused to budge

The lighting flickered and Stiles tensed further, reminded of his time as an unwilling host. 

That light hadn’t come from the ceiling lights nor the laptop, the highlights and shadows that flickered on Peter’s face meant the light source was in front of him, but how?

Blue eyes flashed back and Stiles had a sinking suspicion.

“I see we’ll be adding ‘yellow eyes’ to the list of phenomena.” Thank you for the unwanted confirmation, Lydia.

“Those aren’t the gold of a beta either, Miss Martin.” Peter chimed in oh, so helpfully, smiling as Stiles groaned and let his chin tilt up to rest his head on the chair’s back. 

Allowing himself one eye roll to prevent the physical strain that would come from performing the number that the situation probably deserved, Stiles lifted his head just enough to glare at Peter again. (All this emotional whiplash was exhausting, okay?) The man looked a little distracted, but somehow just as smug as ever in spite of that.

Lydia was already typing everything into a document and Stiles would be more surprised if it _wasn’t_a thesis or at least the draft of one.

A pointed look at the appendage still resting on his shoulder was thankfully all it took for Peter to release him, though the hand did deliver a surprisingly comforting squeeze before it was removed. With the other man out of the way, Stiles leaned forward to read the pieces of the document that were currently visible.

With her connection to death, it really didn’t surprise him that she’d come to a similar conclusion he had. While he might be alive now, he hadn’t always been. 

That was likely the root of the problem.

* * *

Now that the larger picture had been painted, it was time to narrow the focus back down and fill in where the broad strokes had missed. 

The nature of the world and the work of those distant scientists may have laid the foundation, but the catalyst still lay in Stiles’ own powers.

Because to be a Spark is to believe. 

If a person somehow gained the powers of a Spark but didn’t possess the belief to empower the energies, it would be as if they weren’t a Spark at all. However, this doesn’t always mean faith in the unknown or esoteric. Belief in the natural order of things is sometimes all that is necessary.

So when Stiles reached out to warp this particular nogitsune's illusion into something he could use, the body was born with (not doubt, for doubt was the antithesis of belief, instead it was) a realization. That realization was this:

If Stiles could no longer hear the spirit housed in his body, then Stiles had already been released from it. It didn't matter that he was on his way to a new body (because he was, _he was_) there was only one thing a spirit without a body could be.

A ghost.

It was with this lingering realization that Stiles’ belief was projected out into the world and the universe, the realization that he could use the nogitsune’s illusion to survive, but also that he was currently a ghost. 

With the power of a rational Spark’s belief, the universe itself could act as a sort of crutch - the general knowledge that something _could_ be possible would outweigh the necessity of knowing _how_. By passing the burden of how to complete what a Spark believes should happen on to the universe at large, greater results can be achieved with less power. Sort of like following a blueprint instead of inventing something from scratch.

So in that moment the universe had, in turn, searched within itself for the best way to complete the request. 

It looked for a blueprint of both a human body and a ghost simultaneously.

In this world, thanks to that ghostly realization and the lingering effects of those scientists’ experiments, ‘human’ wasn’t no longer the best blueprint to use. 

* * *

“So, I’m still me?” It felt like he was, but better to get some confirmation.

“Yes, after that ritual we’ve made sure of it.” Lydia calmly reassured him, all but patting his hand patronizingly. It was a good thing Stiles was too relieved at the confirmation to roll his eyes because he really didn’t want to annoy her. At least she was nice enough to come and point out his problems before someone got the wrong idea and tried killing him more permanently.

“Well, at least there’s that.” That didn’t mean he was feeling great about having died at all, however. 

Maybe he’d get over it eventually.

Maybe.

“You’re just a little more than human now, like the rest of us.” Her humor was backed by a quiet, tired understanding. It earned her a half-smile which she seemed satisfied with.

“And that more is ‘ghost’? How does that even _work_?” 

“You’d be surprised.” Getting a sardonic answer to his mostly rhetorical question wasn’t what Stiles was looking for. All it did was make him give Peter an annoyed look.

“Well, I would be if you’d said it out loud, Mr. Cryptic! Trying to steal the cup from Deaton or are you trying out being real life clickbait?” 

“As if he would let me. Deaton would be devastated if that trophy ever had to leave his office.” Peter shot back, deadpan. “But since you’re being a little slow right now, I’ll spell it out for you. The dead can affect the living quite easily and are astonishingly hardy compared to other creatures by virtue of intangibility.”

Well, excuse him for getting caught up on his own near death! Considering who he was speaking to, it was probably for the best that Lydia cut in before Stiles could snipe back.

“What he means is that if you can learn to control it, it could save your life.”

“By already being dead.” Stiles wanted to make that clear, because he wasn’t actually dead right now which kind of poked holes in the idea.

“If that’s how you want to look at it, then yes. By already being dead.” She looked perfectly serious and also seemed to be missing the point.

“But, I’m not dead. Do you see my problem?”

“And yet, you smell like it.” There it was again. Peter grinned at the annoyed groan Stiles offered at the reminder.

“What does that _smell _like, exactly?” Stiles asked, testily. Seriously, he was going to strap down one of these wolves and make his own encyclopedia one day, come hell or high water.

“Stiles, we already know you can use these powers without being dead.” Dragging them back on topic, Lydia gave them both the ‘I can’t believe you’re being this _stupid_’ look she’d perfected by virtue of knowing Jackson.

In an effort to continue his lifetime dream of never behaving like Jackson, Stiles relented.

“Right. How…” How to do it was pointless, it wasn’t like they had ghost powers. (Probably.) Better to try for the next best thing. “How should I learn how to control it?”

Lydia raised an elegant brow and Peter made a show of ‘thinking’ about an answer. Not even willing to pander to the man’s ego any further, Stiles focused on the redhead.

“Please. Like you didn’t come over with some ideas.” That got her to smile, which he returned with a little effort.

“Putting you in similar situations might do it, even if just imagined.” Lydia pulled up the list of situations she’d seen so far on her laptop before showing the list of questions she had below that. “Then we’ll move on to how long you can pull off invisibility, how to hide your eyes, testing the hardness of objects you can pass through, etcetera. Getting to know your limits will only help.”

“Include dodge training to make sure he can use the intangibility at a moments notice and hopefully instill some level of situational awareness in him.” The pointed ‘that you are obviously lacking’ lingered in the air as Peter gave Stiles a look just asking him to say otherwise.

With every piece of ‘intangibility’ proof showing that he needed it, Stiles settled for a withering glare.

“Bite me, creeper-wolf.”

“Maybe later.” Peter’s quick response was accompanied by a considering look and a smirk.

Stiles absolutely _did not_ feel his blood rush to his cheeks at the assessing gaze. That would have ruined the over-the-top look of disgust he tried to answer with.

“Save your flirting for after I leave, please.” A hand pressed to her temple, Lydia looked like she’d already had enough of both of them. 

Whatever. Considering Stiles had planned on doing nothing and seeing no one this weekend, this whole thing was on them.

“Of course.” Peter’s smile held just a bit of fang and Stiles was doubly annoyed at the fact that his brain felt the need to label it attractive. Obviously, he’d been around werewolves for too long. He should really get out more and see ‘normal’ people again.

“As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted, we’ll try pushing your limits as you go just like how I’ve started using breathing exercises and an online voice coach.”

“How’s that working out, by the way?” He couldn’t help but ask, curiosity spiking. Even Peter looked intrigued at the idea, though he didn’t go so far as to voice it.

“I’ve only had three technical difficulties break the microphones during our lessons, with no incidents in the last month.” Considering what her voice could do to anyone listening to it instead of breaking the equipment, probably for the best. Good thing Lydia could afford to pay for all of it.

“Impressive.” Peter’s comment earned him a shrug and a hair flip that Stiles interpreted as ‘Of course’.

“Now though, we might want to try seeing what you were unconsciously trying to do before Peter snapped you out of it.” She said it so matter-of-factly that it took a moment for Stiles to really process what Lydia said.

What he’d been doing?

“Uh, having a panic attack?” It didn’t sound like the best idea to induce one. In fact, Stiles would like to avoid them entirely if at all possible.

“No, the other part.” Well, at least she looked a bit offended at the implication that she’d want him to have one. That didn’t help him understand what she’d meant though.

Looking to Peter in hopes of receiving some clarification, Stiles found his hopes dashed as the man looked just as confused as Stiles felt. As confused as Peter ever allowed himself to look, at least. It looked like Stiles was going to have to try again.

“What other part?”

Now it was Lydia’s turn to roll her eyes, but her shoulders were hitched up a little as she realized it was probably a banshee thing again.

“You were drawing in some energy related to death, couldn’t you feel it?”

Death energy? Stiles thought back. He’d certainly been thinking about death. About that echoing tunnel where everyone’s voices seemed to distort and the light that people said should be there. How he wasn’t ready to walk into that light even if it appeared.

With that final thought, Stiles felt like he could almost see this metaphorical tunnel opening up. Closing his eyes he could almost see a barren plain, practically a desert if it weren’t for the stumps of dead trees dotting the landscape.

“Yes, that.” Came Lydia’s voice, no longer echoing but simply distant. Muffled.

If he was already doing it, may as well see where it was going, right? Stiles swallowed and wondered if this was a good idea. Both in his mind and in the kitchen, his fingers tapped against his jeans (one-two-three-four-thumb).

That warm hand found its way back to his shoulder and his fingers finished their most recent iteration before settling.

If this plain was him heading in the right direction, then what came next? What was here? This place was pretty dead.

Maybe that was the point?

Something pulled his attention. It wasn’t light or movement or even a sound, just something a little to the left of where he was ‘standing’ in his mind’s eye. Reaching out mentally, Stiles frowned as his imagined hand ran into a barrier. It felt a bit like a heavy curtain, but he couldn’t see anything.

He pushed against it, through it until the world filled up all at once. The plain was now teeming with color and things. Life seemed like the wrong word, but everything around him was now green, yellow, and purple.

“Stiles?” Peter sounded closer than Lydia had and also far more worried. Distracted from this strange new take on how a grassy plain should look (the grass was purple and the river was floating in places) Stiles opened his eyes and found the werewolf looking very worried indeed. 

“What?” Was Peter stooping a little? Stiles couldn’t usually see over his head.

A hand (when had he stopped feeling it on his shoulder?) reached out to touch his shoulder again only to fall through it. It gave him a tingling sensation and Stiles couldn’t help but wiggle a little as it passed through the rest of his arm.

“Dude, stop. That feels super weird.” He wasn’t sure if Peter’s usual reaction to being called ‘dude’ occurred because he was far too distracted by the fact that he was insubstantial and floating and a _motherfucking_ **_ghost_**. “Lydia, did you just kill me?”

“No.” The immediate and confident response from Lydia had Stiles breathing a sigh of relief only to find that his shoes sagged through the floor as he did. Yelping a bit, he nearly hit the ceiling as he overcompensated while somehow pulling himself back up. Lydia raised a brow from where she was taping the whole thing on her phone. “I’d know if you did, you’re not really dead. You should be able to change back.”

“If I can’t you better believe I’m haunting you for the rest of your life, Lydia.” He gave both her and the camera the stink eye before looking at Peter. “You get a pass because you look appropriately worried. And you’d probably like it, which would defeat the purpose.”

Closing his eyes, Stiles reached for that barrier and found it still within reach even though he was in a different part of the plain (the trees were yellow, what the heck was this place?) which was good to know. It took just a second before he stumbled to the floor.

Before Stiles could nosedive into the ground or the table, Peter grabbed him by the shoulders to steady him. He opened his eyes to find Peter inspecting him as if he were afraid Stiles had left a piece of himself behind. Not realizing he should have been worried about that until right then, Stiles shook himself a little and put a hand to his hair. Nope, it felt like everything was still here.

Peter flexed his fingers, breathing deeply through his nose and Stiles began to realize that was probably a werewolf thing.

But, hey! He was human again!

“Oh, thank god.” That was one strange experience.

Lydia moved around Peter when the larger man refused to get out of the way and Stiles suddenly got a sinking feeling in his stomach at the smile on her face. She was definitely going to make him do it again.

“Congratulations, Stiles. You’re officially part ghost.”

* * *

Power, belief, and a misunderstanding. These were the ingredients used to make Stiles a new body. But somehow, from halfway across the country, both Dr. Fentons unknowingly added an extra ingredient: ectoplasm.

It turned out that while Stiles and the doctors Fenton might be unaware that a hybrid could even exist, nature knew of at least three and Stiles' magic was more than happy to expend less energy to follow such a blueprint to reach its goal. 

Thus, another halfa was 'born'.

**Author's Note:**

> This is really just an opening to a larger crossover series I may write. I'm having fun twisting the whole 'Spark' thing into whatever I want it to be lol


End file.
